


electric lady

by scarletsymphony



Category: Pod Save America (RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Begging, Biphobia, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, F/F, Face Slapping, Love Confessions, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Play, Sex Toys, Strap-Ons, Vaginal Fisting, discussion of period sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-17
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-12-16 14:19:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11830506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletsymphony/pseuds/scarletsymphony
Summary: she’s still got most of her clothes on: a large, baggy dark blue t-shirt that says NO BOYFRIEND NO PROBLEM in white, blocky script and plain beige cotton underwear that’s frayed at the edges. she’s got her feet planted firm and wide on the bed, thighs trembling and twitching under the force of the vibrator. she’s moaning, low but unselfconscious, not trying to stifle herself. it figures that lovett never bothered to learn to masturbate quietly.





	1. day one, day two

**Author's Note:**

> once upon a time, a long time ago, I woke up feeling very gay and wrote this.
> 
> this first part is the set up to the porn, the second part is mostly porn.
> 
> a big thank you to the fuckslack, without which this wouldn't exist. especially thank you to celli for betaing and everyone who gave me feedback about how to break this up.

_ day one. _

when does it start? it’s hard to say. you’d think the first kiss would be a pretty clear point of denotation between platonic and not but it doesn’t go that way because there’s always that one asshole at the bar, and then lovett’s there, arm around your waist, “hey babe, you okay?” with a conspiratorial smile. you guys have played this game before and you know the next step so you try and smile back but the warm line of her hand against your back is distracting. you lean into her even though you know you shouldn’t.

the asshole is saying something and lovett’s saying something back, in her derisive don’t-fuck-with-me voice and you want to pay attention, you really do but you’re drunk and lovett is warm and you’re trying your best to ignore how your cunt is aching because whatever. it happens sometimes. you’re drunk, okay.

so when the kiss comes it’s a surprise.  arms tugging you close, lips against yours, warm and wet and oh. this is lovett. you wonder if you’re dreaming, if it’s that reoccurring fantasy you get sometimes. you decide it doesn’t matter and reach up to grab her face and open your mouth into the kiss, wanting desperately to capture her taste and ingrain it into your memory for later. when lovett pulls away her eyes are dark, pupils dilated and you want to stay in this moment forever.

lovett blinks, licks her lips, says, “hey, let’s get you home, okay?”

“okay.” you hear yourself say.

she gets you home in an uber and follows you up into your apartment, makes you drink two glasses of water before she lets you lie down. you don’t remember much else, but you take the advil and drink the water you find on your night stand the next morning. there’s nothing more you’d like to do that go back to sleep, it’s barely 8am, but everything hurts too much to sleep. instead you grip the glass in your hand tighter and sip water that’s shock against your dry throat, too much sensation to feel like relief.

only then do you let yourself look at lovett, starfished out face down on her side of the bed, sunlight from half open blinds hitting her brown curls and making her hair glint gold. it hurts to look at, but you do it anyway.

***

_ day two. _

was it that moment? is a drunken kiss with lovett when she’s pretending to be your girlfriend to scare off some asshole at a bar gay enough to like, count, or were you still just friends at that point?

it’s hard to answer in retrospect and impossible in the moment. you think it over while you drag yourself out of bed and scrub off the make up from last night before stripping out of your gross underwear and the dress that smells suspiciously strongly of beer. you throw on some sweatpants and a tank top and force yourself to go out to the kitchen to make a breakfast you don’t feel like eating. you’re still thinking about it.

did it mean something? what did it mean? was it gay, or just friends stuff? you pull a carton of eggs, a bell pepper and half an onion out of the fridge and admit to yourself that the answer to your question isn’t really the point. the point is that you’ve been asking yourself these questions for the last couple months with exponential frequency and what the hell are you supposed to do about that, really.

when you set your knife and chop the pepper you feel the press of the knife downwards snake through your hand and up your arm. your headache pulses in response. gritting your teeth, you keep chopping. by the time you’ve got the veggies in the pan softening, you still don’t have any answers.

you wonder if you’re a coward and the weight of that thought rests sour and jagged against your mind.

when lovett stumbles into the kitchen looking bleary eyed and asks “where’s the coffee?” you answer, “i didn’t make any.” automatically but your attention’s caught by the old college t-shirt of yours she’s wearing. (the sweatpants are her own, a pair she’s left at your apartment at some point).

it doesn’t fit her. her breasts strain obscenely against the fabric and warp the logo of Holy Cross Crusaders. the t-shirt ends a good inch above the top of lovett’s sweatpants. you can hear that your voice is flat, that there’s a weird downturn there but lovett just rolls her eyes at you, “of fucking course.” and shoulders past you to the coffee maker.

you busy yourself cracking and scrambling the eggs, plating them for both of you as lovett works your coffee maker and talks, her voice loud and scraping against your headache, your nerves. you can tell by the cadence of her words that she’s throwing insults, you know that you’re missing your cues to bite back but the line of tension that’s been working along your spine is twisting further and further. you try and relax your shoulders and you can’t, you just  _ can’t _ anymore so you put the plates down, turn, grab her forearms and kiss her.

kissing lovett sober tastes like morning breath, feels like soft lips and a body that’s still sticky and sore from last night pressing against lovett who is warm, always so so warm. you slide your hands up lovett’s arms, gripping her biceps before you’re shoved away by the shoulders. lovett is staring at you, wide eyed. 

“i haven’t even gotten to drink my coffee yet?” she sounds faintly hysterical and you swallow hard, trying to dredge up some words.

“i – should we eat first?” you end up saying and  _ what _ , that’s stupid, what the hell are you talking about. lovett seems to agree by the way she screws up her face at you. after a tense moment she turns, grabs her mug of coffee and takes a large swallow before staring at you again. you feel your jaw set, you push your chin out a little. 

lovett takes a deep breath.

“i mean, don’t fuck around with straight girls is like, the golden rule and after college i’ve been a very good gay about that one, y’know? and yeah, okay, we’ll dance together and i’ll pretend to be your girlfriend to make the creeps fuck off and everyone will joke about how we’re dating but you’re my friend and that’s that, because i learned my lesson early about who is and isn’t a good idea so you don’t get to do this, okay, i’m not, i can’t – I’m not  _ that _ kind of girl, okay?”

lovett goes silent, giving you a plaintive half smile like she wants you to get it. you take a careful breath, breathing past the knot in your chest, your face burning hot then cold with humiliation. 

“i’m not fucking straight.”

your voice is a lot angrier than you think it’s going to be. it hits you that this is the first time you’ve ever said that to anyone out loud, though you’ve always known the truth somewhere at the back of your mind ever since watching jenny ruthords change after soccer practice out the corner of your eye in sixth grade. your face burns all over again as you struggle take a deep breath. you can’t look at lovett right now.

“yeah,  _ okay _ , fine, but look, i can’t be your mid-life experiment, alright, it’s just –“

“fuck you.” 

it’s ragged coming out of your throat and you wish you could take it back, make it sound less raw. the silence that follows feels heavy and you scramble to pull your thoughts together. the thing is you’ve sat through the rant about straight girls at least a dozen times; you know lovett’s damage and she knows you know, at least you thought she did. you thought she’d realize that you weren’t just -- not that you knew exactly what you were doing or why but you thought lovett knew you better than that. thought better of you than that. fuck, it hurts that she doesn’t.

“that’s not what this is. fuck you.” you say it again but it feels hollow on your tongue this time, unsteady and quiet. you want to run, want to escape into your room and make lovett leave. but you came this far and while the kiss was obviously a stupid mistake you do not back down or go halfway. you square your shoulders, take a deep breath and look up, meeting her eyes. when you do speak, you surprise yourself with how even it comes out.

“I like you lovett. i guess i’ve liked you for a while now.” you feel your mouth curl into a bitter not-smile. “now can you please leave? i would like to have my hangover and cry in peace.” it comes out dry, overly patient, almost like this is a normal conversation and you’ve just come to the part where you tell lovett what’s what. the thought makes you bark out a small, humourless laugh.

lovett looks lost and wide-eyed, and fuck, you’ve really fucked this up haven’t you? you wish you could take all of it back, but you can’t, so you just wait because it’s lovett’s turn. you’d appreciate it if for once she just did as she was told and left.

“sorry. i’m sorry.” 

it’s uncharacteristically quiet but it sounds sincere. you look away but she steps forward, takes your hands. you don’t want to but you can’t help but look at her, the earnest set to her face as she speaks. 

“i’m sorry, that was shitty, i’m not good at this, i –” 

you see the kiss coming but you stiffen in surprise anyway, still against lovett for a brittle moment before melting in relief. you don’t actually register much of the kiss as it’s happening, trying desperately to hold onto a rational train of thought as your mind whites out and your body gives under lovett’s, all the tension running right out of your shoulders.

you pull away from each other slowly, by increments, and lovett seems reluctant to let you go, going in to kiss your mouth, then your cheek, then your nose, warm skin against yours again and again in a quick flurry of sensation. “i’m sorry.”

you lean your forehead against hers. “i probably overreacted a little. it’s just been on my mind.”

you see her smirk. “yeah?” you roll your eyes and bump your nose against hers.

“yeah. and i hadn’t ever told anyone, asshole. y’know, about not being straight.” the admission feels awkward, and the guilty look on lovett’s face doesn’t make you feel any better. you sigh.

“look, can we just.” you step closer into her space, looping your hands around her waist, pulling her warmth in. “get to the fun part, please?”

you’re rewarded with a blinding grin. “by all means, who am i to --”     

you kiss her to shut her up.

 


	2. Chapter 2

_ month nine. _

lovett has a hitachi perpetually plugged into her wall with an extender cord. she has it lying next to her bed, in full view at all times. it’s something you’d made fun of her for, then, eventually, had very carefully not thought about.

now you get to think about it.

a small part of your awareness is still cataloguing the mess that is her room; the piles of laundry, the couple of crushed empty cans of La Croix, the small dresser that’s so covered in stuff it’s nearly impossible to see the surface of it, the mirror that’s nearly all covered with sticky note reminders and lists. you’ve been here before, it’s nothing new to you but the particulars register differently somehow.

most of your attention is on her, though, lying back in her unmade bed, sweatpants kicked off, hitachi between her legs apparently exactly where it needs to be if her flushed face is anything to go by.

she’s still got most of her clothes on: a large, baggy dark blue t-shirt that says NO BOYFRIEND NO PROBLEM in white, blocky script and plain beige cotton underwear that’s frayed at the edges. she’s got her feet planted firm and wide on the bed, thighs trembling and twitching under the force of the vibrator. she’s moaning, low but unselfconscious, not trying to stifle herself and it figures that lovett never bothered to learn to masturbate quietly.

she’s not even looking at you, really, aside from brief incidental glances. but you know her, you can tell she’s showing off: tilting her hips up so they rise off the bed a little as she moves into the vibrator, throwing her head to the side and exposing the line of her throat.

you’re consumed by a thousand little details at once: her breasts moving under the her t-shirt as she takes a deep breath, the way her curls feather out around her face, the rounded line of her calf as it flexes and relaxes, the rigid way she holds the vibrator with both hands, the sweat on her neck, the way her bottom lip is a little wet, the way her voice sounds when she says, “fuuuuuuck.”

you’re still standing in the doorway, in the same spot you were a few minutes ago when you caught her like this. she did this on purpose, that’s incredibly, obnoxiously obvious. the questioning texts about when you’d be home, the “i have something for you babe”, the wide open door. you knew something was up, but you didn’t think it was going to be this. 

it’s the kind of thing that makes what you’ve always visualized as the distinct threads of your emotions tangle up: surprise, annoyance, lust, affection, love, comfort. it all knots until you can’t really tell exactly what you’re feeling only that it’s big and loud and undeniable. like lovett herself.

you decide to go with your first whim and start undoing your button up. lovett doesn’t notice what you’re doing until you’re unclasping your bra. you hear a strangled “oh my god” as you let the bra fall off your arms. you grin to yourself but don’t look up, instead moving to step out of your heels and quickly pull off your pencil skirt and thong. you feel a brief twitch as you realize you’re going to leave your clothes on the floor, unfolded, but you brush it aside. you take a couple brisk strides forward until you’re standing at the side of her bed, looming over her and completely naked.

you take in her shocky, dazed expression with a smug smile. you note how her hands clench around her hitachi as her eyes look you up and down, like she really wants to touch but also can’t bear to interrupt getting off to you.

she swallows visibly, her eyes following the movement as you tap the shaft of the hitachi with a finger, right above where she’s gripping it. “turn it up.”

she does and immediately swears, eyes squeezing shut, hips arching up and staying there for a long drawn out moment as she grinds into the hitachi before collapsing with a small sound. panting hard she opens her eyes to stare up at you, looking vulnerable, blown wide open.

you watch her squirm and count to sixty slowly in your head, shifting closer to the bed and putting a knee down on it but not touching her. when you get to sixty you wrap a hand above hers and pry her hands off, taking control. she gives in easy, hands falling off to land on the bed, shutting her eyes and rolling her hips experimentally into the hitachi. you keep the pressure steady and she exhales, opening her eyes and reaching up to touch you.

“no.” you make your voice as sharp and stern as you know how and miraculously, it’s somehow it’s enough to make lovett listen and freeze mid-motion. you feel a shiver of pleasure run down your spine. “don’t fucking touch me.” you lean down until you’re close, face to face, hitachi between your two bodies but still not quite touching lovett anywhere. 

“turn it up again.”

lovett’s eyes widen and she’s shaking her head, “shit, i don’t know –“ but she’s simultaneously reaching down, hand hesitating above the control before turning up to the next setting. the effect is immediate, a yelped “FUCK!” and her body’s scrambling away from the hitachi on instinct, shifting up the bed.

you follow her ruthlessly, pressing the head of the hitachi in firmly, trying to imitate the angle and placement of the head off of how she’d held it before. lovett’s pressed up in the space where the bed meets the corner of the room, propped half-up on her elbows, legs splayed wide and thighs clenched, hands fisted in the bed sheets. you shift the head of the hitatchi and lovett makes a sound like she’s dying. her entire body seems to seize, thighs, stomach, shoulders flexing hard and stilling.

you keep the hitachi exactly where it is, watching lovett’s face screw up, watching her curl into herself, watching her leg twitch with violent jerkiness, watching her bite into her lip so hard you wonder for a second if she might draw blood. after a long moment she finally relaxes, slowly, in increments, gradually collapsing from her elbows onto her back. her stomach unclenches and her thighs go limp, hands letting go of the sheets and fingers flexing before falling still on the bed.

there’s a couple moments of silence where the only sound is lovett’s ragged breathing and the buzz of the hitachi. then she’s batting the hitachi away from herself, hard. “get that the fuck away from me.” there’s no rancour in her tone though, just breathless insistence. you heft the hitachi then switch it off, laying it after a moment’s hesitation at the usual spot on the bed side table. it’s lovett’s, she can deal with the clean up later.

you turn back to where lovett’s on her back, legs still splayed wide, one hand half over her eyes. you lie down next to her on your back and she reaches out, flopping a hand on your stomach. “what the fuck.” she mumbles, almost incoherent. “i mean, what the fuck, that was –“ she shakes her head weakly before rolling on her side towards you. she’s not looking you in the eye but the hand on your stomach is stoking down lightly, sending bright sparks of sensation across your skin that fizzle out slowly.

“that was so goddamn much, favs, i can’t even tell if it felt good at the end there but i was so into it you don’t even know” – you think you do know, you want to point out, you were there, watching her, but she’s on a roll, rambling ramping up until it’s rapidfire, until you can’t really make out what she’s saying without concentrating. her hand hasn’t stopped stroking your stomach.

she’s getting restless, working herself up and agitation is the next step here, you know that from long experience listening to her rant. so to shut her up and because the hand on your stomach is getting maddening, you wind one arm around her and shove the other underneath her side and roll her on top of you. she scrabbles up on her knees to straddle your hips and when she seems balanced you grab her by the back of the hair and pull her down to your breasts. she goes easily, flashing you a grateful look that makes something twist in low your stomach.

then her mouth is closing over your left nipple and she’s sucking, consistent suction with a little bit of teeth like she knows you like it. you push her head down, burying her face into the soft curve of your breast so she can’t breathe through her nose, so that the only way she gets air is when she pauses, lets her jaw go slack and breathes in around your breast, noisy and sharp.

it gets her desperate like you knew it would, gets her sucking fast and hard for as long as she can hold out before gasping for breath, the wet sound of skin and air obscene. you reach down to feel where you’re wet and push two fingers inside of yourself, curling your fingers and rubbing the spot that makes warmth diffuse around your whole cunt.

“yeah, fuck, that feels good, don’t you dare slow down, fuck, you’re such a slut for this, you love it, you love sucking on my tits so hard you can’t fucking breathe, do the other one.” 

you tug on her hair, moving her from the left to the right. you pull your fingers out to frantically rub at your clit until it gets too much and you fuck back into yourself, alternating restlessly between the two. lovett is pausing more and more frequently to take breaths, face red and chest heaving, a hand at her own cunt.

so you’re not surprised when she pulls away and crawls up your body, nosing at your neck. “fuck, can i go down on you? i want to eat you out so fucking much, please babe.” you run a hand through her curls, scritching at her scalp to see her move her head into it, to stretch out this moment where she’s begging, fairly thrumming with desperation and want, kissing at your neck and grinding against your thigh.

you pull her up to kiss, long and wet and breathless and when you break apart you say, “yeah, but get this shirt off.” 

you pull at the back of her t-shirt and she raises her arms, helping you pull it off. she’s wearing that old, ratty bra that may have been white once but is now greyish and vaguely stained looking. you spare an affectionate thought to the fact that apparently this is what lovett chose to wear while planning to lie in wait before reeling her in for another thorough kiss.

then lovett’s breaking away and crawling down your body. you struggle onto your elbows to watch, to see the moment where she nudges your knees apart and all but face plants straight in, noisy and squirming in her enthusiasm. you breathe carefully through your mouth, settling your legs open and reaching down to touch her hair gently, just wanting to feel.

you’re not really into being eaten out. lovett’s fine at it, better than most of your boyfriends were, as you’ve assured her before but it doesn’t do it for you as much as other things. you like eating her out just fine, like the way she grinds her cunt into your face when you do something especially right or the way she rides your face and curses.

the thing is though, while being eaten out doesn’t do much for you on its own, per se, having lovett eat you out is…the way she begs for it, every time, the way she goes for it, desperate and eager, lapping with her tongue, hands bracketing your hips. the way she rubs her face into you and moans, the way it makes her grind her hips down in the bed. yeah, it does it for you.

you finally can’t bear to look anymore, closing your eyes and tilting your head back, “put your fingers in me.” and she listens, she  _ obeys _ , two fingers, then three, curled, but not quite in the right spot. you shift your hips, until yes, there, “there, yeah, fuck, right there.” 

you let the slow roll of orgasm build up, running down your thighs and flaring at the base of you cunt, building and building and building until the feeling of her hair under your fingers is all you have left and you’re coming.

consciousness of your surroundings settles around you slowly like a haze. lovett’s breathing, the cool air of the room against your body, the sheets tangled under you. you reach for lovett, urging her up from between your legs, and this, this is your favourite part of getting eaten out by lovett. seeing her, face wet, curls plastered against her forehead, eyes wide and so so grateful.

you reach out to slap her face, not hard but not lightly either, just to see the gratitude intensify, to see her lean up and in and you’re kissing, wet and slippery and good. you wrap your arms around her middle, pulling her in close and taking her weight, pressing your face into her neck, feeling her pulse thump against the side of your cheek. “yeah.” you mumble into her neck. “yeah.”

***

_ week three. _

look, it’s not that you’ve never had sex on your period. you had that one college boyfriend who refused to touch you when he knew, which was weird. but after him pretty much all your boyfriends would graciously let you know that blowjobs were always on the table regardless of the time of month, and you’d had period sex with a few of them. it wasn’t a big deal.

still, it was usually an awkward conversation a few months into the relationship. so when you bring it up three weeks in, mid making out on lovett’s bed that you’re on your period you’re a little startled when she brightens, moves off of you and makes a beeline for her closet, saying “oh, i have just the thing for that actually –”

you watch, bemused, as she starts flinging handfuls of tangled clothes and other random items stuck in between – was that a  _ pair of tongs _ ? – out of her closet. your eyes land on the stretch of her cut off shorts across her ass as she bends forward.

“i had a girlfriend a while back who was a squirter, like, at a drop of the hat type thing so i had to get this so she wouldn’t destroy my mattress, where is it, where is it, ah –” 

lovett makes a triumphant sound a pulls out a circular black, velvety looking throw. “it’s black so it won’t stain like a towel and it absorbs really well. and it’s super soft! just gotta throw it in the laundry after.”

you must have a look on your face because lovett cocks her head, hand with the throw in it lowering a little. “wait, are you one of those girls who can’t stand getting fingered on their period? because that’s fine babe, you know you can always just go down on me.” she plants her feet wide and gives you a ridiculous leer.

“or, hey, we can do butt stuff!” lovett cracks up at herself and you roll your eyes, but something occurs to you all of a sudden as you consider her question and before you really have time to think it through you find yourself saying, almost to yourself, “actually, i don’t think i’ve ever been fingered on my period.”

lovett’s eyebrows shoot up and she grins, “oh my god, have you never –“

“i’ve fucked on my period, i just don’t think they ever fingered me.” you interrupt, clarifying.

lovett bounces back towards you, dropping the throw on the bed and getting back onto your lap where you’re sitting against the headboard. you run your hands up her thighs and ass, resting them on her waist and she drops a quick kiss on your mouth. “so, what, they just stuck it in? isn’t that not very considerate?”

you roll your eyes and rub at her back a little. “well, with david i didn’t really need fingers to take him.”

“oh my god, really?” lovett giggles and you smack her lightly on the shoulder before leaning in to kiss where you hit.

“actually, it was a good thing. i could take his dick in a lot of different positions without worrying he’d bash my cervix.”

lovett runs her hands down your shoulders as she leans in to drop a few kisses on your neck. “see, that’s why being a lesbian is optimal, you get to curate your own collection of dicks for all occasions and positions. also, feel free to never wax poetic about david’s dick again.”

“i wasn’t –“ you catch the gleeful expression lovett wears when she’s successfully given you shit and you sigh in exasperation, shoving at her chest before reeling her in with a hand around her neck for a kiss.

when you break away she asks, “so, you into it?” tilting her head to the throw tossed at the bottom of the bed.

you tighten your arms around her waist and hum an affirmative. “yeah, i am. i’m not always up for it but when i am, the orgasms are more intense, i guess?” you drop a kiss on her throat and hesitate, curious. “how about you? i mean, do you fuck during yours?”

to your surprise she nods. “yeah, it’s been a while but i love getting fisted on my period.”

you pull back, staring at her. “are you fucking with me?” you ask suspiciously. 

your own periods are light, made even lighter by birth control and you’ve never really had cramps. lovett on the other hand has periods from hell. you’ve personally had a front seat to her recumbent on the couch, hot water bottle on her stomach and bitching about how her tits ache more times than you can recall. you’ve picked up a box of extra heavy overnight Always maxi pads for her before because she never bothers to keep track of her period and make sure she has enough supplies around even though she really  _ really _ should.

but she’s shaking her head. “nah. it helps with cramps.” you sit with that, kissing absentmindedly at her cheek, thinking.

“doesn’t it hurt?”

lovett shrugs. “yeah, at the beginning, but…” she pauses, biting her lip and looking thoughtful. “it’s worth it, i guess? after i feel relaxed in a way i can’t get during my period usually. it’s really good.”

“do you get off on it?”

lovett blinks. “uh, sometimes. mostly not, probably? it’s not really about that. it’s –” she looks far away, as if remembering. “i’m super sensitive and every touch is really overwhelming. I feel every single finger, every bit of stretch feels like burning and when her fist is finally all in me and she’s pushing against the muscle, massaging at it until it releases its.” lovett blows out a breath. “intimate. intense, y’know?”

you don’t know, but something in you wants to, suddenly, a lot more than you thought you would. lovett’s eyes focus on you again and she grins.

“the last few girlfriends that did it for me wore gloves but maria, the girl that showed me, she liked to get her fist bloody, she was super into it.” lovett laughs. “it’d always made a fucking mess.”

“now look who’s waxing poetic.” you mutter, but there’s no real heat in your tone. you want to hear about lovett, is the thing, about what she’s done, what she likes.

lovett smiles crookedly. “touché. but hey, my last couple girlfriends weren’t into period sex at all, i know it’s not for everyone so don’t feel like you, y’know, have to do anything or whatever.”

“yeah, okay.” you say. you know it’s something you’ll be thinking about later but you’re not really ready to give lovett a solid statement of intent yet. you rub at lovett’s hip and an idea suddenly hits you. “so, how about i go take my tampon out and we take a shower together?” lovett seems to like the idea, if the way she grabs your hand and tugs you off the bed is any indication.

***

_ month four. _

the startled look on lovett’s face is absolutely everything you’ve dreamed this moment to be.

“yeah,” you repeat, keeping your voice deliberately casual. “i want you to put your fingers in my ass.” a pause. “i mean, if you want to, of course.” although you’re pretty sure she wants to. you shift and take the cutting board out from under lovett where her hands had gone still, turning to scrape the chopped onions, carrots and celery into the sauce pot.

“i –” this is possibly the first time you’ve seen lovett this flustered, it’s  _ great _ . “you’re into that?” she finally squeaks.

you smirk at her in answer. “uh-huh. have you ever done it?” you ask lightly, trying not to grin too obviously.

“i mean, once, but she didn’t – most of my girlfriends haven’t been into it.” she’s blushing pink now, not looking you quite in the eye and oh, this is  _ delightful _ , it’s great to finally have something on lovett.

“yeah?” you crowd her, putting your hands on her waist and backing her up into the fridge. “how about you? you into it?” you bite her ear gently. “wanna fuck my ass maybe, with your strap on?”

lovett sucks in a sharp breath. “jesus.” she says faintly and you can’t help yourself, “that’s not my name, actually.”

lovett groans as if she hadn’t made the exactly same joke last week in bed and nudges at you with her knee. “c’mon, we have to finish the sauce.”

***

_ still month four. _

the tip of the dildo is at your asshole and lovett’s rubbing it back and forth, smearing lube around, letting it dip in just a bit before pulling out. it’s a black dildo, on the smallish side but with a good weight. it’s silicone that’s firm but velvety soft, expensive as hell. you’re on your hands and knees, your favourite way to get fucked in the ass, lubed and ready to go, like, yesterday. lovett had wanted you on your back, wanted to watch your face, but you’d flipped a coin, so that will be next time. you tilt your ass back, wanting lovett to just fuck you already.

“just fuck me already.”

lovett gives a non-committal hum. “good things come to those who wait.” she sing songs obnoxiously. 

you grit your teeth and whatever you’re about to snap flies right out of your mind with that first push in. it’s not much, doesn’t feel like more than an inch but the stretch is so goddamn nice. you push back against it, wanting more. bracing down on one elbow you reach a hand up to rub at your clit.

“that okay?” lovett’s voice is over-solicitous.

“fuck you.” you grit out and she laugh, rolling her hips forward a little, working it in a scant bit more.

“fuck, favs, you look so good opened up on my cock.” lovett says, bracing a hand on your hip and pushing in deeper. you moan, making a conscious effort to relax into the sensation of being filled. lovett’s pushing in and pulling out, going deeper with every push in, and she’s rambling, “– you’re taking me, just like you took my fingers, so wide open, taking it so good for me.” there a sensation of something warm and firm against the rim of your hole and you realize it’s lovett’s thumb, pressing.

“fuck.” you mutter, feeling yourself get wetter under your fingers, rubbing harder at your clit. you don’t know if it’s the words or the steady pressure of the toy pressing in but you’re burning up for it, arousal jolting through your cunt, heat suffusing your face, your neck, the insides of your thighs. you shove back hard this time, demanding, “fuck me.”

she does.

***

_ month seven. _

you’ve got four fingers in lovett and she’s squeezing around them, hard, working her own fingers against her clit. the clench around your fingers is fierce, and you have to work to keep her cunt from pushing your fingers out. you brace your elbow against the bed, bicep flexing. “ah, get your thumb in me.” lovett pants and you raise an eyebrow at her. “yeah?”

“yeah, i want your hand in me.”

you grab the lube lying next to lovett’s hip and open it one handed, pouring generously and messily over your hand and her cunt before snapping it shut and dropping it back on the bed. you tap her hip with your free hand then settle it there. “deep breath.” on her exhale you begin to push in, corkscrewing your fingers one way, then the other. it happens by increments, a consistent in and out, in and out. pressing and rubbing against the tension of her cunt until it gives, stretching and letting your hand in millimetre by millimetre.

getting past the knuckles is the hardest part.

lovett grabs onto your hand, the one at her hip, squeezing hard and breathing deeply through her belly, in and out, in and out. you rub your fingers inside her, against her, squeeze the hand at her hip, push one more time, and it’s in. your thumb is about halfway and you know lovett can take your whole hand, has before, but you’re not sure she can fit more tonight.

you’re both sweating, breathing hard. lovett is still rubbing two fingers in slow, lazy circles at her clit, eyes closed, other hand still holding yours. you love watching her like this: the sweat beading at the curve of her stomach, clinging to the soft hairs there, the sweat along her collarbones, on her flushed face. her eyebrows are furrowed and her mouth is slightly open, her bottom lip pink and bitten looking. you follow the curve of her breasts with your eyes, lingering on the stretch marks that frame and lead into them; you always want to trace them with your fingers but you’re not sure if that would be okay.

your arm is sore and the heat and pressure around your hand makes it feel almost numb and the grip of your other hand in lovett’s is sweaty. you feel dazed, the second-to-second awareness of being so  _ inside _ lovett a little overwhelming.

“hey.”

the word breaks into the silence between you and seems to almost reverberate. lovett blinks her eyes open slowly. “yeah?”

you suddenly have no idea what to say, the ability to find words rapidly dissolving. you swallow past a lump in your throat and squeeze lovett’s hand.

after a moment she squeezes back.

***

_ month ten. _

“hey, so i was thinking i’m probably going to stop taking birth control.”

“yeah?”

“yeah, it’s an extra cost. and saw an article on twitter about how it can mess with your mood, too. plus, y’know. i don’t really need it anymore, right?”

“well, that’s true.”

“...shut up.”

“what? i didn’t say anything!”

“you were going to.”

“you don’t  _ know _ that.”

***

_ year one. _

“hey, you know i love you, right?”

“yeah, i love you too.”

 


End file.
